"He is risen indeed. Alleluia!" The congregation beamed at their new priest, a beatific expression on his face. Reveling in their admiration, proceeded to give a passionate (if a bit halted) sermon on the concepts of faith and doubt. Matthew, seated behind the lectern on the rostrum, stifled a yawn, shifting to discreetly wipe his eye on the sleeve of his starched white acolyte's robe. He glanced down at the floor, bathed in the colourful light from the stained glass window above and behind him. startled from his reverie by a blare of voices, he was forced back into the awareness of his surroundings by the choral wall of sound slamming him in the face and eardrums from the all too near speakers before him, their feed from the choir loft opposite him. "Typical," he thought with a wry chuckle "that on resurrection Sunday the choir chooses a song that is almost totally unrelated to the observance." This service, they decided to butcher Randall Stroope's "The Conversion of Saul". one of his favourite A Cappella anthems. he did an inward cringe that very nearly became external. schooling his face into what he hoped was an appropriately reverent expression, he continued to muse "I can see why the new churches shout, God would probably have on earmuffs permanently after innumerable Sundays like this." he chuckled at his own joke, glancing up to the choir loft, following the exuberant gestures of the group's director, the aging but surprisingly robust Mr Deacon Dean. He chuckled again, almost chortling suppressed into a snort. At the final "Alleluia!" of the anthem; a warped, jagged and much flattened chord ringing through the chapel, aresounding "AMEN!" sounded from the congregation: whether to communicate their relief or one of congratulation was a matter of opinion (it wasn't).
At the end of the benediction, Matthew took the cruciform back to the altar and proceeded to the changing room to remove the "linens of office" and again become "just Matt", holding off his canonization another week (another chuckle)
